Two Witnesses In Eschaton's Institute
by Degenerate Scumbag
Summary: "Despite their valiant efforts, on December 25, 2054, America lost World War III."At the brink of a communist takeover, two completely different people find themselves witnesses to plans hiding under the guise of systematic genocide. A mysterious man has plans to bring back a dead race by creating nephilim, the biblical term for angel and demon homunculi. A preview for my novel.


Despite their valiant efforts, on December 25, 2054, America lost World War III. Being the last standing country in the allied powers, their insolent surrender to the Neo-Union was as pitiful as the riots were to the cries of the entire world. After all, American was the last of the Allies. . .and when they perished, they in turn left the rest of the world in disarray. Conversely, Saudi Arabia had lost the great war over a year beforehand, and had thus gotten used to having been left in the dust of the war. As long as America was still going strong, there would be no threat of an overtaking. In fact, a young arabian girl found joy in the smallest of tasks. The Iranian-iraqi refugees became friends to her, and she would provide them with food and water when she was given enough to spare. This routine has been held up for a very long time before the soon coming day of exaltation.

Then, as if a calling from Phobetor, everything was robbed from the broken degenerated Saudi-Arabian nation as property of the Neo-Union's Iranian-Iraqi sect. With the land being overrun by the Iranian-Iraqi militia, the last announcement regarding the status of the war seemed as though it would have the least effect on the ruins of Jeddah. After all, everyone else in the world was too preoccupied to even know that the country quickly became in disarray as it was the most populated place of worldwide refuge. It seemed the passionate and warm are the sort of people to start things but not one to finish them. War was no exception.

The actual Saudi government was not taken over or reformed, just occupied by soldiers and damaged until they gained legal rights to the land they had already won. This was the new terminology for the middle eastern section of the new world empire. Televisions on the lawns of burnt and damaged homes were swarmed with enough people to send messages to her directly. Arziki Fakhir Lahab was able to watch the screen a house over if she leaned forward a bit. She recognized the Iranian government official, his terrifying stare only separated by the screen.

" _هذا هو البث العربي للاستسلام الأمريكي لثالوث الاتحاد الجديد من الصين ، كوريا ، وروسيا ، وبالتالي الجز الفرعي للقوى الإيرانية العراقية_ _._ _لقد سقط العالم في نظام عالمي جديد ، حيث لا يوجد ألم فيه لأنه لا يوجد أي شعور_ _._ _لا توجد دموع لأنه بدون عيون المكفوفين لا خوف من الظلام_ _._ _في تمام الساعة_ _11:46_ _من صباح يوم عيد الميلاد ، أعطى الرئيس الأمريكي ولاءه لنا_ _."_

" _This is the Arabic broadcast of the American surrender to the Neo-Union triad of Korea, Russia, and the Iranian-Iraqi powers. The world has fallen to a new world order, one where there is no pain because there is no feeling. There are no tears because without the eyes of the blind there is no fear of the dark. At 11:46 am on Christmas day, The American president has given his undying loyalty to us."_

As the audio began to play, the girl pulled turned her head to the left and began to inch closer for clearer audio. However, she was abruptly pulled back by the fabric of her niqab.

"Arziki! Get into the basement, now!" Her brother held a rifle under his arm, signaling that it was an order. Not a request. His grip on her strengthened and he started for the door, stopped by her feet. He shoved the refugees out of their torn home, as there was little support to provide with a burned and dampered house, ruined by the havocs of war. Arziki grabbed her brother and pleaded with him and darted her eyes towards the refugees, indicating her request.

"Please, let them in!" Her two other brothers and brother-in-law pushed past her, rifles in hand. The strongest brother dropped to his knees at the turning point to the road and loaded his gun. "Arziki, you can't open the door. Tahira and Nada are sleeping. We can't help everyone and most of the roofs have holes. Mawu, you lock the door after you get her in. Is that one loaded?" he said, motioning towards the gun the youngest struggled to hold.

"Oh, yes. Do you—"

"Give it, they're coming!" A gun was tossed as the thunder of footsteps and the loud howls came into earshot. Her brothers were sharp. Her sister's husband was a veteran. Arziki herself would just be found sitting in the basement alone, wishing she could have gone to America earlier and showed them charts of the population jump after a third of the Iranian population nearly merged with theirs within a week and what little supplies were left. Their economy was as prosperous as the late 2020s Venezuela.

"I can help! You, them, anyone!" Pleading and begging took ahold of her as she was thrown to the ground in front of the door on the house interior. She was down, and the obscene catastrophe could only be contained if the door was shut. Mawu put his hand there and looked down. Eyes did not meet, but their minds did so before saying goodbye. "Don't you shut the door!" As if he was not making the choice to, the door shut almost on its own with his hand touching faintly. That was it. The Iranians had entered a contract within the declaration of war specifically staying that they would not conquer the lands of the losing side until everyone on that side had lost. They had to have been waiting by the borders since the war turned south.

Arziki stayed on the ground for a moment as she thought of any possible solution. She had begun to think, but could not fully articulate any sort of thought before nearby gunshots were heard, ripping through her mind. She dialed her father's number but did not pray to Allah. Waiting was the game and her father was the king of it. Allah's righteousness could not win against the devil's pride. Her father's home and family were everything to him. Getting Arziki and her siblings into good schools and making sure they succeeded seemed to be what kept him going.

The ringing of the phone went on, and Arziki could only imagine her father had left his hospital to run through a mad mob of shooters. Her fingers dialed a second time. No answer. On her third attempt, a gunshot rang out dangerously close to the door. She dropped her phone. She went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, as a woman wouldn't have a rifle. Her brother Diric's voice hit her as her hand reached the doorknob .

"Don't you dare open that door, I mean it. If they find you, we're all done for." His voice was coarse and like a cough, but quiet which scared her. She pressed against the door, and her heart suddenly stopped to feel a heavy weight on the other side. The door stopped moving. He probably stopped breathing.

The knife was put down and Arziki opened the basement door, her face changing into one of grief. Their basement door did not lead to the basement, but to a floor below it. The house was destroyed from the madness of war, unlike the fake basement which was still lined with cream-colored walls and held a single television. Such a simple room could have been the last floor. The counter the television rested on was removed after the electronic was abruptly knocked off in rash rage.

There was no one left to put anything back together, so it didn't matter to her if the whole place fell apart. Even the most silent parts of the city were screaming to her in a way without sound. The screaming came from a hole in the wall that was no more than two feet wide. The hole lead to a room of stairs which lead to the true bottom of the house, the basement. Her feet walked down two floors worth of winding stairs. Inside the small bunker, her eyes rambled along once beautifully soft orange walls.

When she came to the end of the stairs and opened the wooden door, she found a small space of yellow worn bricks and a brown blanket in the corner. The panic room. It was designed for her and only her, but there was not a place more strange to her. She didn't know why she got her own panic room. It was never explained and she was too afraid to ask. Her father would see it as her questioning his authority which was beyond unacceptable in their culture. With nothing to do, she shut the door and used the cloth of her niqab to cry into. Her own country would become the property of a wrathful and merciless communist nation, and she never even had a say in it.

Saudi Arabia was not Saudi Arabia anymore, but one of many lands in the Iranian-Iraqi sect. It was not home, for there was no home. There was only the blanket that enveloped her tightly, and the wall she leaned against. She was alone, with no one but herself. Sleep seemed the easiest way to keep her from delving into her newfound loneliness.

She was born in Ghana on April 26, 2042. Her family was forced to flee not an hour after her birth. Bears came out from behind blank flat deserts as if in response to her screeching cries. The Vea Dam rose and flooded their huts. The water ran until it separated from the dam, almost as if it had a life of its own. As the bears tossed and turned in the sprinting waters, the sky clouded up and began to rain fire on the grasses. Her birth was the end of the world it seemed.

Then, as water started to run to her family's hut, her father opened the door to bring his other children to the wagon. He found villagers running towards them, splashing in the water. They held knives. The old mistress Fifi with the missing fingers was nearest, as she had just assisted in Arziki's birth. She brought a sword to the front door.

"Fakhir, you need to tell Morowa that is the devil's child. If she isn't disposed of right now, our lives could end tonight." Fakhir looked back at Morowa with uncertainty. He was a good Muslim man and he did everything to serve Allah. If Allah asked him to kill his child, he would do it, although he would rather not. Fakhir looked out beyond the woman to the families trying to pin their houses to the ground, and brought his attention to the young men attacking and stabbing the bears. Fakhir whipped his head around to Morowa, clutching her wailing baby.

"No, please! Kill me instead, or kill them! All of you are trying to get in the way of us! . . .Y-you have been this whole time," she sobbed. Fifi moved forward, pitying the young woman who wore stress marks even without anyone to hold.

"Morowa, my child, you have had seven stillborns. Seven! The gods don't see you fit to be a mother and are punishing you for trying!" The mix of islamic and tribal religions dictated much of the decision making the elders of the village did. That was their code of morality.

"Arziki has done nothing wrong. She clings to me like God wants us to cling to him. She is not wrong, Fifi. You can kill me because I gave birth to her, but don't touch her- _please_!" Her mother refused to use the muslim interpretation of Allah's holy name. The English word 'God's never ceased to irritate those around her for being so elusive about her intentions. This was because to the rest, the word being in another language gave the word an whole new connotation.

"Don't talk nonsense, Morowa! Just hand her over." The man walked roughly over to her before attempting to grab Arziki. The first wife's children covered their ears when struck with Morowa's screams.

"No! Arziki!" She screamed, sobbing as she fought his yanking and pulling. Eventually Eufa, the other wife, took hold of Morowa.

"I'm sorry Morowa. I'm sorry, but this has to be done!"

"Please! Please no-Arziki!" Eventually Fakhir got ahold of the infant and stood there, staring at his flesh and blood whimpering in his arms as a new life. Fifi gestured for him to come forward. He looked back at Arziki, who felt something hot on the back of her neck. He turned her over to find the "Alpha" greek letter raised on the back of her neck with glowing red veins stemming from the area.

"What the hell . . ." He looked back at Fifi, who yelled at him again. He held Arziki tighter. She was a bringer of a new order, a renewal of the land, skies, life, but in a way inconceivable. Even the father did not want to know, but as the rare and extraordinary neurosurgeon of the Hausa people, he assumed he could relegate out whatever illness made her cry like a lamb for slaughter. The village's anger soon grew with every moment of bewilderment and strangeness that was brought upon by the squirming infant.

"You are weak, Fakhir. We'll have to take her ourselves!" Fifi shouted. Morowa wailed and their other children screamed. Arziki did not, instead looking to the side with quivering lips at the mob that began to break their walls. A tear fell as a fireball from the sky shot down on the mob, blinding everyone who saw it. The hut was completely untouched by the flames. They were left to turn their backs to the villagers that screamed and begged for death to take them quick. Fakhir handed his child back to a horrified Morowa, and walked to Eufa.

"We're leaving. Grab as much food as you can and get in the wagon. Kids, get in the wagon now." He began lifting up the children and helping them climb through the window. He found Mawu's two-year-old frame crawling into Morowa's lap next to his sister. Fakhir grabbed him and handed him to his eldest sister as he cried louder at the separation. He helped up a delirious Morowa, still faint from the blood loss at birth but clutching to her baby with brute strength. He guided her to the window and she handed her child to her husband's older children, calm and obedient, staring down with quiet sniffles.

They all climbed into the wagon, and as soon as Fakhir tumbled from the window to the ground his face spurred into confusion. Their wagon was to be pulled by the domesticated elephants in the area. He turned to Eufa.

"Where are the animals?"

"I think they fled. I saw some antelopes running earlier-

"Dammit!" Fakhir kicked the leaning mud house, not minding his fractured toes as he lashed out in unruly irritation.

"Damn you!" No one knew who he was talking to. Fakhir could have possibly been howling at himself as he was the one who had failed most profoundly. Fakhir could have been talking to the omnipotent deity who coldly and dispassionately took his honor from his career as a wealthy trauma surgeon and gave him a home of clay and soil, soon in ruins by fault of his own flesh. Perhaps, he could simply have been talking to the ornament of his terrible luck that cried as it was the day it was born.

His breath slowed as he glimpsed to the right as if he was called to it. There was one of the bears standing there, head hung low as if swearing his duty. It was a sturdy and wide male, nearly nine feet in length. It was the size of a true beast. It humbly leaned to the sound of Arziki, and the oldest little girl stood up, wobbling on the wagon.

"The bear wants to help us!"

"Wafaa, sit down."

"No, he wants us to ride his back." The girl's frame at barely nine years old stood tall and thin like her birth mother. The bear let out a gruff in response as Eufa began to attach the elephant's harness to the bear. Quadir, Kafui, and Wafaa were loaded on the back of the bear soon after by their confused and emotional father. Morowa held tightly to her child as well as little Mawu, whom she felt belonged as much as the other during that time. Quadir held the reins tightly, bringing everyone as far from the flames as possible. They set out in a random direction. After an hour, Wafaa glanced behind her shoulder to see the light clouds glowing in the distance, soon fading.

"Kafui, it's starting to stop-"

"Shh! She's falling asleep. Look." Quadir motioned downwards with his sister, seeing Arziki break from breastfeeding to shut her eyes next to her drooling half-brother.

"So she is," he smiled. Kafui looked on from behind him.

"She's falling asleep while feeding? What a weirdo," he whispered. Repressed giggles filled the three children, and the bear slowed down as if to sway in a way that quickened the baby's slumber. They had a long ways to go before finding a place to call home. Pathways were scarce in such a rural area. After leaving any trace of familiarity, they would travel around the dam and cross the frames of western and central Africa. Morowa and Fakhir first met briefly in Somalia, as they both had Somali parents with Fakhir's Arabian mother and Morowa's Ghanaian mother as the exceptions. With both of their parents deceased, the two adults eventually brought Eufa and the children to Fakhir's father. Success seemed to follow Fakhir after that, as Somalis were soon healing faster than others were dying.

In present day, Arziki tossed and turned violently with a strong vigor as her dream continued to delve into her unfortunate Somalian childhood. A small and gentle hand woke her up, gripping her forehead.

"You almost fell over!" Arziki brought her hand up to scan the unfamiliarity. She was not the youngest of her father's children, but had little interaction with her two sisters. Neither of the two would be frightful if she were to fall. Arziki sat up, opening her eyes abruptly to find herself sitting on the lap of an Indian-Yemeni boy no older than six. He sat up proper and punctual, hair blowing in the wind out of a formally combed posture.

 _Wind?_ Arziki catechized with great concern as her balance fell from her. Her head swished in a panic to a window where all her inquiries were resolved by rough railroads and a scene identical to that of an abandoned refugee camp. The taller buildings looked as if they were beginning to sink into the yellow sand that engulfed the area.

"We're on a train. . . in the Rub al- Khali desert . . . and this is Al-Obailah? You know, that battle site o the news?" The boy looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, no longer concerned at her restless slumber.

"If you're asking a small child to answer about a battle that happened outside of their own country, you should ask yourself. You seem oblivious enough of your own surroundings to put some thought into something outside of yourself entirely," Sai retorted. _At least we have something in common,_ Arziki thought. That frank and blunt nature she kept at arm's length was used when displaying inner passions, but it could be controlled for another's benefit. This boy could work with her, and that thought process covered up the raw feeling of motherly protection.

"Who are you?"

"Sai Vishwakarma."

"How did we get here?"

Sai looked downwards at the shaking floor with a solum glare.

"I'm guessing you were kidnapped when Saudi Arabia was invaded, like most here. I was taken from my temple when they made the announcement." _He must be referring to the winners of the war,_ Arziki thought. The Neo-Union was a communist triad constructed by Russia, Korea, and Iran-Iraq. Hindus would not be tolerated of course. Arziki moved her head to the right to see several other people in handcuffs like her own. Some were in an apparent slumber, lying on top of and against each other with hay sacks on their heads. Some prisoners were thrown to the ground. The ones still alive still seemed lifeless from the hollowness in their eyes.

"So this is what the slave trade looks like?"

"Why else would a bunch of strangers be thrown together like this?"

"Comedic effect? Maybe the mastermind who orchestrated this disaster of a human trafficking ring got bored. If we don't know each other our interactions might be more interesting. Last question."

"Hmm?"

"I'm breaking us out. Back door or window?" Sai looked down, eyes glossy and young.

"What if we get hurt?" The boy started to sniffle and shiver, bringing the girl to the inevitable realization that cooperating with anyone under the age of 10 in such an ordeal would prove as close to impossible as she would accept. She knelt down and held his hands.

"If we stay here, we will surely be hurt. Don't doubt that. If we try to get out, we might not be. Now, do know how many carts are behind us?" Sai put his finger to his lip and looked around, not in a contemplative manner but to act as if he had something to contemplate. To be frank, he seemed to have completely forgotten.

"Some," he said. "There were some."

"Some as compared to what?"

"A lot."

Darn it. _He has no idea,_ Arziki gathered. She pushed him one last time.

"How much is a lot?"

"How old are you?" She couldn't be that old to him. Then again, to a young child, anyone more than two years their elder was considered old.

"Fourteen."

"I can tell, you have stress marks," Sai commented as he traced lines on his forehead. The other felt her own forehead, rubbing over the slightest of creases.

"Wh—"

"There were eighteen. I knew before, I just remembered now, oddly enough."

"Obviously."

"That's what I just said. You sure need to start remembering things."

 _Quite the contrary little man,_ she scoffed mentally. _If I peak out the window and I see forty three passenger trains, I'm jumping out the window and you can stay here and remember it._ She only bluffed to herself to remain true in keeping her rough emotional exterior intact. She looked at the door before pausing, turning around, and attempting to make eye contact with the slaves that were awake or awoken by her loudness. Her eyes stayed locked on the picture of gently closed ones, not responding to her own. _He must be an American. Is he awake?_

"As much as I would like to help you guys escape, I'm blind, sorry." The accent was mild, but he was undoubtedly a foreigner. The girl blinked and smiled.

"Blind to a good opportunity is the only thing you're blind to," Arziki chirped. It was instinct to use her radiant enthusiasm to squash out any sense of negativity, which is what the boy reeked of. He didn't mind her offensiveness too much but he did wince at how terrible the pun was. Their chances of getting out alive would go down, but Arziki's motivation for leaving was helping others leave. If anyone needed help, it would be the young, elderly, and unsurprisingly the disabled, whom she felt very partial to.

"Yeah, besides literally everything also took my cane. I don't believe we have prisoners outside this train, do we?" he asked the strangers. They all just looked with eyes devoid of all life and hope.. "I didn't think I had that much of an accent. Did anyone see what was out there?"

"They had bad air before they came here," Sai interjected with an inflated sense of knowledge. Arziki turned to inspect the other dozens of passengers. Their glossy eyes were not closely recognized like the blind boy and the smaller child, but when they were they were found to be strangely lonesome.

"You mean they're all drugged? I just thought they were really depressed to be here."

"Isn't that the worst kind of sickness?" Zach asked sarcastically. Arziki snorted as the fellow teen sunk in his brown bench in smoothly mild irritation. The isle had some grown men and women lying, so the boy had to curl his legs as he sunk. "Wait," he stated with as much command as he could. "I think there's a soldier nearby. Someone scary."

"How do you know?"

"I could kind of . . . feel his aura or something." He spoke it suspiciously arbitrarily, giving Arziki lenience to believe whoever this man was, there was no need for caution _._ Still, she regarded Sai with a sisterly or maternal instinct. They were trapped on a passenger train in the desert, kidnapped by the Iranian-Iraqi sect as they were officially on their property as of that morning. No mistake could afford to transpire as unforeseen. A speedy escape was as important as a successful one for it to mean anything. She abruptly walked by the left end of the train and peered through the window.

There were some boxes on the other side of the train as seen through the window. On the boxes were arabic letters inscribing their belongings. There was no one there, and the timing for an escape seemed as right as it could be in such abrupt circumstances. She walked back to a curious and pensive Sai who looked up at her, and back at the blind boy.

"What's your name?"

"Zacchaeus is what it says on my certificate, but just call me Zach."

"I would ask if I could help you too, Zach, but why are you the only one who isn't drugged?" She had a good feeling about this young man, but her suspicions were still contemplative nature made sure nothing would go unchecked. The train's wheels bumped violently, causing Sai to cling to Arziki.

" Oh yeah. I snuck in here deliberately."

"You weren't kidnapped?" Arziki questioned. "Why in the world would you want to come here?"

"You sure are a talker. It's a long story-"

"Well shorten it." Analyzing, understanding, and questioning others' motivations is always the new way to gain knowledge. After all, all that is known now is only known because of human to human transfer. Such a wretched place as a slave trade would never be a place someone would want to enter without being forcibly constrained to. There was a bigger picture about what was going on, and Arziki would take as much information as she could.

"You see, I'm looking for someone who was kidnapped."

". . .His name?" Zach was a bit taken aback at the question. She couldn't seriously have any sort of impulse to help someone she had never even met. To Zach, Arziki offering her help to him, a blind man, was rare in of itself at her age. He sat back in his chair.

"Oh, um . . . Josue Henriques. He's short-ish but taller than you, and he has . . .well, he _said_ he has braces. I wouldn't know. He's 14 and really bad at Arabic. Can you speak English?"

" _Of course I can,_ " Arziki said in an overly emphasized english accent. Zach smiled. The sun peeped through the windows in flickers that blinded the seeing ones, and the young Indian-Yemeni boy with the black hair turned to the left to see the broken windows of sunken buildings and gray rubble that once paved walks filled with dancing and singing and stands that smelled of the sweetness in baklava rolls. He needed to get home. He needed to cling to the girl who neglected her niqab and held his hand as if he was not touching the ground then.

"I'll go with you through the back door," Sai mumbled. "I'm . . . afraid of heights." Arziki knelt down and smiled wildly with a thrilling relief before taking both hands in hers. Her scrambled mind was able to articulate a plan swiftly.

"I'm going to go look outside to see how many cars there are." Sai nodded in response, and Arziki let go and moved to the window, kneeling on the bench around the sleeping slaves. She was able to peep through the window after sliding it down, but squinted at the wild sand before seeing at least nine cars in the distance. The carts seen through the malicious blur were more than far off, and the sandy wind blocked about two or three passenger cars. Still, Arziki only stuck her head further out the window and forced her eyes open, examining the ones seen.

 _It looks like every sixth passenger car is a caboose connecting it to the next set of cars. The next caboose is eight down from us, so the one nearest should be two from where we are now if we take a right,_ Arziki thought as she pointed to the right. _If we were to go in the car attached to the back of the caboose, we could detach the cars breaking the train in two to slow ourselves down as opposed to jumping out the window since we're most likely going over 40 mph and Sai's bones are fragile because of his age. First, I need to see if there are any people between us and that cart._ Lost in her newly inventive plan, her head turned to the left before she was smacked in the face by a sign that spun on a rusty pole.

"Ow-kay, okay, _ow._ " Arziki's face scrunched up and Sai moved so she could huddle in pain. Sai removed her hands to reveal a nose that started to bleed before his eyes.

"It sounded like you hit whatever it is Sai warned you about. Can you actually help him?"

"You bet I can, I just have bad reflexes." She also had severe visual and hearing impairments on her left side.

"In that instance, it would have been bad instincts. The seeing one should be the one who isn't walking into poles and hitting my head, so if you want I can-"-

"I'm totally fine!" Although that was a truth overall, she did know her nose had a stable fracture, and she couldn't touch it to stop the bleeding. Rushing into things headfirst was too often literal for her. The constant and fleeting rush of the mind would always be there to think before she acted, but the flood of thoughts ended each one quickly and springing her into wild directions.

"Didn't you hear me tell you to watch out?" Sai noted, visibly unimpressed.

"You were standing on my left, and to be frank I'm partially-" - _Smack._ She had to bite her lip and slap her mouth before saying anything that might make Sai hesitant to follow her. If he saw her as incompetent-or more than he already did-he wouldn't trust her at all. There was no time for negotiation, so she looked again when the train took a sharp right turn, spotting a group of workers four cars ahead. There was enough to lead her to believe that nearly all of them had gathered there. They could go, or at least take a good chance.

Arziki grabbed Sai and put her hand on the door, melting a hole in it which she used to undo the latch from the other side. She pulled back, putting one foot on the latch between the two cars before putting her weight on the door. She swung the door open and picked Sai up, throwing him inside as she jumped inside herself. They marched down to the end of the train, and repeated the process again. As this was repeated one last time, an irrationally transformative force beckoned from behind the heavy door and began to throw her with the beat of the steaming locomotive. While Sai leaned back, Arizki's fist popped through the steaming hole and snatched the lock with unwavering ferocity.

"Sai, come closer!" She beckoned to the distant figure.

"Arziki, are. . . are you a witch?" Sai asked as she repeated the process once more, sweat forming on her forehead as she searched for the latch.

"This really isn't the time! I'm opening the door soon!"

"What if you are a witch and you're just tricking me?"

"Please just trust me!" She spat in frustration.

"Why should I trust you? Look what you did to the doors! I knew it! You've got that scar on your face, so you must be a witch!" Her . . . scar. Arziki ignored the comment under habit. Her eyes remained forcefully preoccupied, as the past reactions from others led her to know the sort of disgusted face Sai was making. "I'm going to die and it's all your fault!" Sai wailed. If anyone else were to say that to any other prestiged rescuer, their rescuer would proceed to open the door and undo the train out of spite. Yet Arziki was there with unconditional love for life itself, even when a particular life was stalling, quite irritating, and had snot coming out of his nose. He was scared, and she was up to taking that fear like a sponge if he would allow her.

"I'm not a witch. Now, will you please come to me?" The words of encouragement could have been said just from her eyes alone, so vibrantly rich with a dark golden coloring and mild orange tinge. It was a warmth that could have been left unspoken, but was in a way that signified protective love. Sai walked over, his sandals stepping on Arziki's toes making her wince. She opened the door without hesitation, and pushed Sai in only to be met with a mighty force and a distraught outcry. After the tension evoked from the naive child's hesitation, the evil showed itself in the form of splitting the two. Sai clung to her only to be ripped out of her hands by an unknown entity, and thus the two were separated and their attempt subsequently failed.

"No!"

"Arziki!" Within her moment of distress, Arziki could see a figure about a foot taller than her, with features soft yet contrasted. The soldier looked strangely out of place, as if he was more inexperienced than needed for his mission. She opened the locked door once more opened it with extreme dynamism. Arziki pushed the door aside and jumped in to notice a young man that only turned around at Sai's thump.

". . . Josue?" This was clearly not Josue, but he turned around at the noise. The young man had blackish hair in the form of a messy textured fringe that went forward and shaggy sideburns. He had olive skin. He also had a raised "Omega" inscription on the back of his neck. When he turned around for a moment to reveal large and soft graying eyes, Arziki felt like just crying on the floor. She had found someone like her. Someone with a marking like hers. . .but it was different. Maybe she would find out why the events surrounding her birth were so strange, or maybe he could just be another ally.

"You're not supposed to be in here."

"What's your name?"

"Name? I'm referred to as Intelligence Specialist 096-824."

"I-Intelligence Specialist? What are you doing here then?"

"To answer why I'm in this particular car, I needed to use the bathroom. Also, this is the largest pull in of trafficked slaves from one area so Sir said I should be on board," he said matter-of-factly. "You two are imports. Get back in the car, and . . . uh, what did you do to the doors?" As his face changed in wonder, Arziki knew that this would be her chance to ask him about the tattoo he had, since she was spacey and determined enough to believe Sai and this blank numbered man could both walk out of here safely. If the man was there willingly, she would just break that will.

"Are you . . . weird too?" Eyes changed, not in color but in feeling that came from them. As soft gray eyes would become large with disbelief, round eyes would become large in the extreme belief that she had found a clue. She had always wondered and pondered about that possible someone with a life like hers. He was different, however. His eyes were drained of color. Those eyes looked evidently lonely.

"Weird as to what?"

"Weird as to everything you've ever known." He stopped at her abrupt note, looking as if he answered in his own mind, his mouth not moving but hands scraping their palms. She was pinned, and he had pinned him, and she had found what she was looking for. That's why it made so little sense when she couldn't grab what was in her own hands.

"No, I'm not. Now go back now or I'll put you back." His hand slipped grabbing at his rifle, then went again to lift it up and forward at her chest. That was surprisingly unexpected to her. She put her hands on it and looked at his eyes with something fierce. She would not let go, and her hands conveyed what he was deaf to with words. His face twisted in a mix of fearful disgust in response to this.

"Leave me alone!"

"No!" At his shaky voice, her resolve only hardened, almost forgetting about the gun that pressed against her abaya. His eyes widened at her obliviousness to the verity she was purposely walking along the line between life and death.

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

"What's wrong with _you_? Haven't you ever wanted answers? Don't you want to know why when we breathe, the tide comes in like we own it? Isn't it just complexing how the warmth of wrath roasting our skulls is only vented through breaths that come as torches? Or are you really okay purposefully shutting yourself inwards and staying silent to these questionings?"

What a blow to an impressionable psyche that was. In fact, he might have called it a calling from a ghostly thing. A revival of something that never lived to be remembered, and a mouth to cry for help when he had none to do so with. It twisted him, twisted him to the core with a only a confused stump to answer with. That was irregular to him, inconcise and illogical to him in a way that got under his skin. This voice threatened to torment him.

And so, he shot it down. The barrel of the gun roared and Arziki was on the ground covering her mouth that shot up blood like a pierced hose. Sai's feet went out to her and she waved him off like a rat.

"Don't look! Turn a-around . . ." She heard some voices buzz in a distant walkway of a place that seemed so faint to her. Men in the same wear as the man with the numbers came and began to grab her, hoisting her up and taking her away while a little boy screamed for a god of hope to save him. Although, it didn't seem to matter, because every breath was an articulate struggle. Arziki knew she would never be this tired again. Before long, the darkest hour came and hovered over the single and lonely passenger car, as if attempting to break in and snatch them all into a malicious hell.


End file.
